


Prince Charming's Lonely Knight

by E_D_Lake



Category: Snow White and the Huntsman (2012)
Genre: Identity Swap, M/M, POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 22:19:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E_D_Lake/pseuds/E_D_Lake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>William's kiss didn't awaken Snow White. Why not? Because his True Love was waiting for him back at home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prince Charming's Lonely Knight

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to fulfill an obligation to my friends, whom I bribed to see Snow White and the Huntsman with me with promises of fic. Sadly, most of the characterization in the movie was terrible, so I took a hard left into OC-ville. So this is almost (but not completely) an original high fantasy romance. With bonus shapechanged Ravenna.

                "I will not leave her again!" William shouted, and wheeled his horse. Charles watched him go with dread and resignation. William's departure became inevitable the instant rumor reached them that Snow White was still alive.

                Duke Hammond turned to him. "Can you talk some sense into him, lad?" The Duke's face was worn with care, lined with the worries of years of futile war. Rebellion suited him ill; despair suited him worse.

                "No, your Grace, not about... her." Charles paused, sleepless nights remembered. "He still has nightmares."

                Hammond sighed. "So do I, lad. So do I."

#

                Late that evening, Charles sat beside the Duke, tallying the grain harvest. Winter had come early - too early - and frost had taken a good third of the crops in the fields. It would be a hard winter, and a lean one.

                Not that there had been another kind, since the witch had taken the throne.

                There was a rap at the study door. "Come in," Hammond barked. Hinges squealed, and the draft sent sparks flying up the chimney from the hearthfire.

                A narrow-faced man in hunter's garb stepped in. "We have word of the young lord, your Grace," he said. Charles sat up straight.

                "Report." The Duke's broad fist clenched, crumpling parchment.

                "He left his horse with a contact in Sweetstream, your Grace. Then he seems to have joined up with a search party for the princess."

                "A search party?" Charles said, surprised. That meant...

                "Led by the Queen's brother, Master Charles. They were last seen entering the Dark Forest."

                "Clever," Hammond said. "He won't have to hide from them if he rides with them. Thank you, scout... Randall, is it?"

                The scout looked pleased. "Yes, your Grace."

                "Go on, return to your duties. And tell me when anything else comes up. Don't fear to wake me."

                "Yes, your Grace." The man stepped out, closing the door behind him.

                Charles tried to concentrate on the account in his hand, but visions of the Dark Forest filled his mind. He'd been there once, trying to find a wayward patrol. He'd succeeded, mostly.

                He wished he hadn't.

                The four bodies he'd located showed signs of horrible deaths - swollen and blackened by poison, crushed by deadfall, torn by wild beasts. One, most disturbingly, lay untouched in a field of enticing blue blossoms with a look of ecstasy on his face. The fifth scout was never found, and the Duke forbade further travel through the Forest. The thought of his William in that dire place chilled his blood.

                Duke Hammond closed the ledger he'd been inspecting with a snap. Charles started. Hammond cleared his throat.

                "Time I told you this, lad. If William..." He paused, gaze turning inward. "If there's need, I'm naming you my heir."

                Charles's jaw dropped. "Your Grace, I'm not... I'm a farmboy, your Grace."

                "You're my son's chosen, and you'll rule beside him if he manages to survive this idiotic adventure. If he doesn't..." He shook his head. "You're sensible, and brave, and the troops respect you. The farmers love you. I'll not have another heir of the body, not at my age, and there's no one else I'd trust to keep the duchy together."

                Charles tried to find his voice. "He'll come home, your Grace. He will."

                The Duke's expression softened. "I know, lad. But regardless."

#

                The Duke wasted no time. First thing in the morning, before all the people who could be hastily assembled, Charles knelt in the great hall as the Duke touched his shoulder with his gold-chased sword.

                "Rise, Sir Charles, knight of the realm."

                The cheering was immense, louder than Charles had imagined such a sparse crowd could muster. He turned and looked at them with astonishment. Pinched, drawn faces were split with broad grins, bony wrists were bared as hands were raised, and grim soldiers' eyes were lit by something other than desperation. It's been so long, Charles thought. So long since we felt something other than fear.

#

                That night Sir Charles knelt in the grove, keeping vigil. The Duke had tried to dissuade him, but Charles insisted. If this knighthood was to mean anything, it had to be done properly. Besides, he had no desire to spend another sleepless night in his too-empty bed.

                The nine sacred trees grew close enough together to shelter him from the bitter wind, and he wore heavy wool and heavier bearskin. What snow had made it through the dense canopy had been swept clear, and the ground under his knees gradually softened.

                Properly, he was supposed to contemplate his connection with the land, his duty to his liege, and his sacred oath to shed his own blood before allowing harm to come to those under his protection. But all he could think of was William's face, sometimes sweet and stubbled and honest, all too often poison-dark and pain-twisted.

                To combat it, he forced himself to remember their first meeting. His father and brother, spying for the Duke, had been captured. No one knew for sure what happened to them, but neither returned from Ravenna's castle. Charles had driven the remnants of their flock to the Duke's stronghold and offered it - and himself - as replacement.

                The Duke had accepted both, gravely, and William, at his father's elbow, offered to see him settled. In the corridor leading from the audience hall, he'd stopped, taken Charles's shoulders, and said "I will see them avenged, friend. I swear it." His eyes were hazel-green and intense, his lips pale rose, and Charles had fallen in love with him in that moment.

                He'd nearly burst into tears. Instead, he'd leaned forward and kissed his liege lord's son full on the lips, not even thinking what would happen if William didn't appreciate the gesture. But he just pulled Charles close and kissed him back.

                What followed... Charles, lost in memory, unwrapped one hand from the hilt of his sword and applied it instead to his other weapon. Their lovemaking had gotten surer and more adventurous, but it was never sweeter than that first desperate encounter. Neither of them had been virgins, but neither had ever made love with the kind of emotional connection they'd felt. Charles's hips bucked and his fist tightened.

                His seed, spilled in the sacred clearing, sank without a trace into the earth. The trees around him rustled, the sound somehow approving. Charles came back to the present reluctantly, and resumed his prayerful pose. Surely the Old Ones wouldn't mind if blood weren't all he spilled in their service, but his vigil was not yet finished.

#

                Some hours before dawn, a page came to the edge of the sacred grove. Charles looked at him, startled. "What is it?"

                "The duke summons you, sir. There's news!"

                "I'll be right there." Charles creaked to his feet, sheathed his sword, and bowed carefully to each of the trees. Then he followed the page back to the castle.

                The page led him to the main hall, where the Duke stood with a scout and a soot-smudged young woman. He looked up as Charles entered. "He's alive, lad," he said, and Charles blew out a long breath. "Tell him," Hammond commanded, and the scout turned to him.

                The man repeated his story, the late assault on the lake village, the fire, William turning on one of his supposed companions to save a villager.

                "They didn't kill him?" Charles demanded.

                "No, m'lord," the woman said. "Least, he rode off alongside them. It was all smoke and madness - I think no one saw."

                "And the princess escaped?" Hammond asked."

                "Yes, your Grace. Got away clean, her and the huntsman with her."

                "Where did they go?" Charles stood over the great map table, plotting distances.

                "Northwest, Sir," the scout said. "Into the Enchanted Wood."

                The queen's castle was there, on the shoreline, and the Dark Forest here, and the lake village here. If they headed northwest...

                "They're coming here," Charles said.

                Hammond sighed. "We'll take them in, if they make it. I owe it to the girl's father, fool though he was in the end." He turned to the scout. "Tell the rangers to concentrate on our southeast approach. Bring them in if they turn up."

                Charles stepped forward. The Duke nodded. "Of course you can go, sir knight. Just take good care."

                Charles bowed. "Of course, your Grace."

                "You can set out at first light. You may as well finish your vigil. I'll see your kid packed and your horse ready." The Duke waved a hand, and the room began to clear. "Go safely."

#

                Charles spent the next day in the saddle with his scout troop, three men and a woman all light in the saddle and long of sight. They made straight for the border of the Wood, and camped for the night a few hours' ride from its edge. In the morning, as the sky began to fade, they shook hands and split up, fanning out to cover as much ground as possible. Three other troops were doing the same, and if the Princess came out of the forest at all, someone would find her.

                He rode through the trees, scanning the new snow for tracks and the horizon for movement. Off to his right, a sudden thunder of wings erupted, making his horse shy. He squinted through the branches. Was that...

                He slid off his horse, murmuring "Stand" in an attentive ear, and started towards the shape he thought he'd seen. He moved slowly, minimizing the crunch of snow under his boots, and kept trees in front of him as much as possible. He caught another glimpse - it was a person. He stepped behind a gnarled oak and peered around.

                Then he charged into the clearing, relief making his heart race. "William!"

                William turned, his expression wary, and he almost recoiled from the crushing embrace Charles wrapped him in. Then his arms came up, and for a moment everything was all right.

                "I thought I'd lost you, my dear," Charles whispered.

                He felt William's cheek shift into a smile. "But you found me!" He pulled back a little to study Charles's face. "You're so terribly loyal, to come find me."

                "I'll always find you, William." Charles pulled William close, burying his face in his bronze curls. "Did you find the princess?" It came out slightly muffled.

                "Snow White?" William sounded almost sarcastic. "Yes. She's not the girl she once was, I must admit."

                Charles bit his lip. There were too many questions he didn't dare ask. Are you going to leave me for her? Does she still love you? Do _you_ still love _her_?

                William looked up. "Oh, you are precious," he said softly, and slid a hand up his neck. Williams lips were cold, hungry, and strangely unfamiliar.

                William's hips shifted against his, and he felt himself reacting. Charles cursed the weather - it was far too cold to disrobe properly. William's lips and tongue worked down his jaw to his throat, and Charles moaned. He tipped his chin up and William growled playfully. His sharp teeth seized tender skin and bit down.

                Charles's groan turned into a yelp, but he didn't pull away. His hips bucked wildly, and William gave him the resistance he craved. His tongue soothed the sore place on his neck, then traveled back up to his lips while he pulled Charles's hand down between them. "Will you?" he asked, his eyes as hot as his lips were cold.

                Charles dropped to his knees. "Always, my Lord." He unbuckled William's belt, then unlaced his points with hand and teeth while he managed his own trousers. There was no way he was going to last, and no sense in making a mess. Will's cock was as hard as he'd ever seen it, and he kissed his way down it with relish. He'd taken some ribbing from his village friends, when he and William had first met, about his willingness to kneel before his Lord, but it was never willingness. It was _eagerness._ There was nothing he liked better than to hear William's rough gasp when he finally took the head of his cock into his mouth.

                He looked up. William looked almost astonished, his mouth gone slack and soft with pleasure, Charles tried to smile, but his mouth was far too full. He concentrated on his task, instead, and the far-more-difficult task of keeping himself from finishing first.

                William's hand burying itself in his hair was his signal, and with a groan and two or three strokes he let himself go just as William filled his mouth even further. He sighed with relief and pleasure and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then stood. "A pleasure to serve, as always, my Lord," he said, teasingly.

                William regarded him with that same faint astonishment. "Certainly, my dear," he said, and busied himself with his trousers. After a startled pause, Charles did the same. It was _cold_. "Are you alone?" William asked, and Charles looked up.

                "There are enough for an escort in reach of my horn. Shall I call them?

                William reached out and ran silky fingers down his cheek. "We'll meet you at that hill," he said, pointing with his chin. "My companions are a trifle shy of soldiers right now. Let me have a chance to warn them."

                Charles stepped back and bowed. "As you wish, my Lord." He gave William a shy smile, and William looked back with hunger in his eyes. He turned towards his horse, hoping it hadn't strayed far. As he passed the old oak, William laughed softly. A chill ran down his spine; he couldn't say why.

#

                The horn was as cold on his lips as William's kiss. As he waited for his troop to arrive, he replayed the scene in his head. Meeting the princess again had clearly unsettled Will - there was something not quite right about his reactions. Charles's "pleasure to serve" sally should have been met with warm humor, not puzzled, aloof graciousness. He chewed his lip as he listened to the muster echoing to the north and south as the scouts passed it along. It would take the nearest no more than ten minutes to rally to him, and the furthest would intercept them on the way back. Fifteen stout soldiers should bring the princess home safely enough, even if William himself was... distracted.

                Leah was the first to arrive. She was a dark-haired, scarred veteran ten years his senior, although she deferred to him cheerfully enough. "All well, Sir Charles?" she asked as she reined in.

                "Aye," he replied, eyes on the trees below. "William is bringing the princess to us here. We'll take them in."

                "Is he well? Lord William? You're looking a mite wild about the eyes."

                "Hale and well," Charles replied, and then he went back to worrying if it was true.

                The rest of the troop trickled in. Charles was contemplating sending someone to check on the princess's party when his horse tossed her head, pricking her ears towards the treeline. A rough-hewn, handsome man stepped out, axe held loosely in one hand. His face was twisted with grief.

                "Must be the huntsman," Leah said.

                Behind him came a strange procession. Seven small men - dwarves, Charles realized - carried a litter on which lay a woman, dead or unconscious. William followed. He stared at the litter, looking neither left nor right.

                "Slowly, now," Charles ordered, though he badly wanted to set spurs and charge. The scouts followed him in good order, at a jingling trot. The huntsman saw them coming, snarled something, and raised his axe.

                "Peace!" Charles called. "We come from Duke Hammond. Can we help?"

                The huntsman didn't shift position, but William finally looked up. "Charles!"

                Charles slid off his horse and ran to meet him, catching him up and holding him as he sobbed. "She's dead, Charles. Snow White is dead, and it's my fault."

                "It is not," the huntsman growled, lowering his axe.

                "What happened?" Charles asked.

                "The queen took William's semblance and spelled the princess. We came too late to save her." He scrubbed roughly at his stubbled face with one hand. "So close to safety..."

                In his arms, William was warm, alive, and grieving. Charles clung to him, blood turning to ice in his veins. "She took _William's_ semblance? Then I..." He pulled away a bit, cupping Will's chin. "Dear Will. Did we meet an hour ago? Did you tell me you'd meet me on this hill?"

                William shook his head, baffled at first, and then angry. "Charles, did she...?"

                "I met her, then, in your semblance, and she knows we're here. We need to move." He kissed Will's forehead. "It was a good likeness, Will. Good enough that I merely thought you distracted."

                William's face twisted, halfway between grief and rage.

                "She did me no harm, not yet." He turned to his scouts. "Leah, send two out blowing muster, and go yourself ahead to the castle. We'll be along directly." She saluted, fist to chest, and turned to bark orders. "My lord?" he said to Will. "Shall we bring her home?"

                William nodded miserably.

#

                "I'll kill her. I'll bring that damned castle down around her ears!" William's rage overtook his grief, and he paced the room Charles shared with him with thundering steps.

                Charles sat on the bed and watched him. There was no point in arguing. William's fury would run its course, and he'd see reason eventually, but his father was the proper one to pull in his leash. Charles's duty was to let his fiery heart blaze as hot as it needed to.

                Besides, he was handsome in his anger. His bronze curls flew as he tossed his head, his broad brow glistened with sweat. The room was warm with the huge fire laid in the hearth, and Will's shirt was unlaced, revealing dark-gold fuzz on his chest.

                He stopped, staring into the fire, and Charles watched as his grief rose again. That won't do, he thought, and pulled his own shirt off, stretching deliberately. He tossed the garment aside, and when he looked back, Will was watching him with hot hunger. Perfect.

                "Did he tell you?" William asked, coming to the bed and cupping Charles's face in his broad hand. The gesture was familiar, and even the heat of Will's palm couldn't prevent a slight shiver as he remembered where he had felt it last. But he leaned his cheek into it nonetheless. "He must have, if he knighted you."

                "You knew?" Charles asked. He reached out and slid his hands around Will's hips, pulling him forward.

                Will came willingly, pulling Charles's head against his flat belly and sliding his hands down his bare back. "Of course. It was my idea, love." He climbed onto the bed, straddling Charles's legs, and pushed him gently back. "I never wanted to miss your knighting, though. That was ill-done of Father."

                Will's weight settled on Charles's hips, and he felt himself rising to meet him. Will pulled his own shirt off, and Charles sighed happily at the sight of his lover's lean, hard body, broad bowman's shoulders and wiry arms, golden-furred and glistening. Will leaned down and kissed him, pressing their chests together. Charles bucked his hips just a little, relief blurring into need.

                "I know you got the ceremonial sword strokes already," Will whispered in his ear, "but I have a few to give you too. My knight."

                "You are my good and generous lord," Charles murmured back, and smiled.

#

                Afterwards, Will stared up at the ceiling, hand tangled in Charles's hair. Charles knew that blank look well enough, and sighed. He kissed Will's stubbled cheek and slid away, looking for both of their clothes.

                Will half-sat when Charles handed him his pants. "My dear? What's wrong?"

                Charles smiled, though the expression felt wrong on his face. "You are about to go to your father and demand to lead an attack on Ravenna. He will receive you better if you're dressed."

                Will choked out a startled laugh. "How well you know me, my dear knight. But why are you dressing?"

                "Because I'm not letting you out of my sight again," Charles said. He extended a hand. Will took it, and Charles heaved him to his feet, pulling hard enough that Will overbalanced and stumbled against Charles's broad chest.

                He laughed and looked up. "I will shelter behind your strong right arm, my knight."

#

                The princess's recovery was the stuff of legend, as was her speech. Charles remembered none of it. He hardly even looked at her, so enraptured was he by the expression on Will's face - that of a condemned man given an undeserved reprieve. He raised his fist with the rest, though, and sank to a knee with the rest. He followed William, and if William knelt to this pale princess, then so be it.

                The night before the attack, camped in the blasted scrublands an hour's ride from the shore, Charles found her on the edge of camp, staring westward. She glanced at him as he approached, and he bowed low. "Your Highness."

                "Don't," she said with a shy smile. "There are no titles on the eve of battle."

                She seemed to mean it, and Charles bowed his head.

                "You're William's friend, aren't you?"

                "Yes, your... Snow White."

                She looked back out over the rocky waste. "When we were children, I thought we'd marry," she said, musing. "I didn't know what that meant, not really."

                "He thought so too." He looked out over the wastes himself. On the horizon, the lights of the castle winked.

                "I'm surprised he didn't forget me."

                "Never." Charles frowned, remembering William's dreaming whimpers. "He blamed himself for years. He never forgot you for a moment."

                She turned to him, green eyes glinting in the moonlight, "I won't marry him now, Charles. We aren't children any more, and he needs someone who hasn't given him nightmares."

                Charles bowed again. "You will be a great and wise queen, your Highness."

                "Don't count your chickens, sir knight." She turned back to the west. "Tomorrow pays for all."

#

                There was something freeing about going into a fight wholly focused on protecting someone else. Charles wasn't worried about winning, or even surviving - just making sure William made it through. And, somehow, he did. They both did. And Ravenna the evil Queen was dead, and the princess victorious.

                They took rooms in the dusty west wing of the castle, spreading their bedrolls across the new-stuffed mattress because all of the guest linens were long lost to moths. Ravenna hadn't been much for entertaining. And she went through maids something awful.

                William built up the fire as Charles rigged a replacement hinge for one of the shutters out of harness leather.

                "We could have stayed in the occupied part of the castle," he grumbled.

                "Nonsense," William replied. "This is my family's traditional suite. I have it on the best authority that I was conceived in this very bed."

                Charles glanced at the ornate, if dusty, four-poster and winced. "Is that supposed to be arousing, my dear?"

                William stood, brushing sooty hands together. "What, you don't want me to get you pregnant?" His face was as merry as Charles had ever seen it.

                "I wouldn't mind if you tried," Charles admitted, and slid his hand into William's curls.

                William's hands wrapped around his waist, and he flinched.

                "Are you hurt? Let me see." he ordered.

                Charles pulled him close again. "It's nothing, Will. Just a scratch from those damned glass-shard beasts."

                William pulled Charles's shirt up. "Let me see it, sir knight."

                Charles raised his arms and suffered himself to be undressed. William peeled back the hasty field dressing, wincing more than Charles himself when it stuck.

                "Sit. I'll bandage this properly."

                Charles sank down on a low stool in front of the fire, grateful for the warmth on his bare skin. He worked his left shoulder around gingerly - he'd taken some solid hits, and he could feel it stiffening.

                William came back with a ewer of water and a bag of supplies. "Hold still." Charles relaxed as Will washed his wound clean, applied a sharp-smelling salve, and wrapped it in clean bandages. He sat back on his heels to survey his work. "Better. Now, where were we?"

                Charles slid to his knees on the thick rug and met William eye-to-eye. "Discussing fertility, I believe," he said rather archly.

                "Oh, yes, now I remember," William purred, and pulled him down so they lay side-by-side. Their lips met, and Charles relaxed - really relaxed - for the first time since Snow White had escaped. It would be all right, it really would.

                They could live happily ever after.


End file.
